


The Beach House

by silkiemae



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, I'm not sorry, M/M, Stucky - Freeform, first time writing slash so be kind, just be gentle with me, there will be pain, this is also my first attempt at bucky, this was originally an OC M/F, you'll probably cry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-25 12:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4960228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkiemae/pseuds/silkiemae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky came to his parents old beach house to get away of his memories of the war.  </p>
<p>He definitely didn't expect to find some skinny kid lurking around his privacy.  </p>
<p>He certainly didn't expect to get sucked into this kid's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

The sun was hot and sticky the day Bucky met Steve. Summer had only just begun and already he was at the beach house his parents used to rent every holiday. He and some of his old war buddies used to rent it out when he they’d come back home for a bit—drinking brews and swapping stories of beautiful women they knew back in the day and now he was there alone. At first, Bucky was afraid to spend the summer by himself—in fact he was downright terrified of being completely alone for three months. Afraid of the flashbacks that might come unbidden in his dreams—he could never forget the nights he’d wake up in a cold sweat shouting the names of lost comrades.

He needed it though—needed the solitude. Everyone that was left had agreed that he needed to take some time off, take some time away. Where no one knew his name. It had been two years since he had gone to the beach house and in two years a lot had changed. The house was full of dust and what now seemed like outdated furniture. The only thing that still seemed inviting was the beach.

So he put on some swim trunks and grabbed a surfboard and jogged out to the water where he rode the waves until the sun had burnt his skin and the sea made him thirsty. He nearly collapsed in the sand when he finally made it to shore but there was a boy sitting on a beach towel, watching him curiously. He remained on his feet, looking back at him. Here was this skinny kid in a pair of blue shorts and a white t-shirt that hung too loose from his slight frame with a picnic basket, a book in his hand and this enormous sun hat simply watching him.

“I’ve always wanted to learn to surf,” he called out, nearly having to yell because of the distance between them. Bucky looked around as if the skinny kid was talking to someone other than him, but clearly there was no one else around. When Bucky turned back around he was almost directly in front of him—he jumped, this kid moved like a cat. He grinned, sticking his hand out. “I’m Steve.”

Bucky tentatively took his hand and gave it a brief shake. “Bucky,” he stated. “Why don’t you learn?” It had always been a pet peeve of his when people said they wanted to do something but never put the initiative into doing. 

Steve shrugged, crossing his arms as if he were suddenly cold and looked out at the water. “I’m scared of sharks,” he said simply. 

Bucky laughed, leaning down and grinning at the boy. “They won’t bother you out there,” he said, planting his board in the sand so he could lean against it.

“You don’t know that. There are always horror stories about surfers losing limbs and I’d prefer to keep mine, thanks. Without my legs I can’t dance, though I’m not much of a dancer…and without my arms…I’d be giving one armed hugs and that’s just no good for anyone?” Steve said, his eyes darting around wildly as he spoke—as if he was imagining the scenes as he described them. Bucky noticed that Steve was a hands-on talker; one, because he had to dodge him several times as he swung out with an elaborate gesture. 

“I suppose not,” he chuckled. “Does being afraid of sharks mean you can’t go swimming either?” 

“Well, of course, I can go swimming but if I spend all my time swimming then when am I going to get any reading done? Just over there I’ve got two books that’ve been yelling at me for months to read them and I haven’t been able to. So I’m getting to them now. My stress level will thank me tomorrow.”

“You get stressed from not reading books?” 

“Of course I do. Do you know how many books are in the world that need to be read? There are so many and I only have so many days left on this planet. I’ve got to get to as many as I can otherwise I might be dead tomorrow and I’ll never know what happened,” Steve paused to take a breath before smiling sheepishly. “I don’t recommend it. Not very conducive.”

“I see,” Bucky said slowly simply staring at this boy. He had blue eyes and sandy blonde hair, the reddest mouth he’d ever seen like he’d spent too long sucking on a cherry Popsicle, and skin that looked like the cold was brushing a pink paintbrush along his cheeks. Still there was nothing special about him and frankly he was rather weird. But Bucky somehow knew, in the back of his mind, that he would spend quite a bit of time with this boy for the next three months. 

And boy was he right.


	2. II

It had been two weeks since Bucky had spoken to Steve and he found himself splayed out on his couch with a guitar on his belly and his fingers lazily strumming it. That boy had definitely stuck with him and while he wasn’t thinking about him every moment of every day, little things reminded him of Steve. He hadn’t seen Steve on the beach since that first day and he found himself slightly disappointed each and every time. Steve had run off on him after talking nonstop, suddenly turning pale and excusing himself before literally sprinting down the beach into a small yellow house.

Two weeks passed and now the sun was low in the sky and Bucky was laying in the quiet with nothing but the sound of crickets, waves and his guitar when a sudden knocking sounded at his door. He frowned up at it, wondering who on Earth would show up at his door. He knew it wasn’t his parents, it certainly wasn’t his sister and he hoped it wasn’t his friends. So he set the guitar down on the sofa before going to the door and slowly opening it.

Steve stood on his porch in a brown jacket and with his hair a sandy blonde mess. He smiled shyly at Bucky, the first truly shy thing he’d ever seen Steve do, not that he’d seen him often at all—and he noticed the tin in his hands. 

There was what he assumed to be batter smudged across Steve’s cheek and forehead. He shoved the tin at him with a more confident smile and Bucky hesitantly accepted it. “What is it?” he asked, lifting the tin foil and peering inside. 

“What do you think it is? They’re brownies…with a little something special in them. I don’t know if you like stuff like that but I figured we’re young—everyone should try it once in their life,” he said with a shrug and another shy smile. 

“They’re pot brownies?” he said, quirking an eyebrow and glancing around like the police were around the corner. Steve smiled sheepishly and nodded his head. “Well, thanks,” Bucky said slowly. 

“No problem. Think of it as an apology for me running off earlier.” 

There was than an awkward silence as the two stood there, staring at each other with the tin of pot brownies between them. Steve was rocking back and forth on his heels and was grinning like an idiot while Bucky was realizing that he was only in a white wife beater and his boxers. 

“Do you want to come in and have some with me?” he asked, sounding as though he was questioning his question. 

“Took you long enough to ask,” Steve said, side stepping him and walking into the living room. He gazed around and smiled at how nautical everything was—the reds, whites and blues and beach like furniture. “Cozy,” he stated before turning back to face him. He walked over, taking the brownie tin from him. “Do you have milk?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Perfect. You go put some pants on; I’ll make us up a plate of brownies.” As though it were settled, he whirled around heading to the kitchen and began opening random drawers and cabinets. Bucky stared at him for a moment before shrugging and going to his room where he grabbed the first pair of pants he saw and tugged them on. By the time he got out to the kitchen again, Steve was balancing two plates and two glasses of milk while trying to open the door to his porch. 

“Need some help?” he chuckled and Steve glanced over his shoulder before nodding. He opened the door for Steve and the two walked outside, Steve taking a seat on one of the wooden lawn chairs placed strategically to face the sunset. He set out the brownie plates and the milk before ushering Bucky to join him.

“So, Bucky,” he said seriously after taking an enormous bite out of one of the brownies. “Why are you here all by yourself?” 

“You know, alone time. Solitude. That kind of thing,” he said with a shrug and Steve smiled.

“Are you an incredibly desirable bachelor? Or are you some sort of celebrity who has loads of letters sent to your doorstep with propositions of marriage? Or do strange men come to your house with pot brownies a lot?” 

Bucky laughed for the first time in what felt like a long time. “Something like that,” he chuckled. “What about you? Why are you here by yourself?”

“Who said I was by myself?” Steve said, quirking his eyebrow at Bucky.

“Sorry, I just assumed…” Bucky muttered, ruffling his mass of curly hair. Steve simply smiled before shoving his shoulder playfully.

“I’m with Peggy. My cat,” he stated proudly. Bucky looked at Steve in amusement before shaking his head. “Everyone needs some alone time, once in a while,” Steve shrugged.

The two sat in a mutual silence for quite some time, eating their marijuana-ridden brownies and drinking their milk while looking out at the ocean. “I’ve always loved swimming at night,” Steve murmured. Bucky looked at him curiously, the pot brownies taking their toll, as he suddenly felt incredibly relaxed. He could see the same effect on Steve as his eyes were half lidded and he had his head lolled back as he spoke. “It always seemed so much more peaceful…the waves are quieter and there are no children screaming and splashing,” he paused and then looked pointedly at Bucky. “Skinny dipping at night is always nice too.”

“Are you saying you want to go skinny dipping?” Bucky laughed.

“Not this time, I don’t think,” Steve murmured, finishing off the crumbs of his brownies. “You’ve got quite the head of hair, did you know that Bucky?” Bucky didn’t answer, just simply watched Steve who didn’t seem to care if he answered him or not. He just simply talked about the ocean and about his hair, about the books he was reading and the characters in it and how attached he got to things like that. 

Steve talked as much as any girl he knew but he talked about things that were actually real, something that made him want to listen. All of the girls he knew liked to talk about clothes, or boys they liked or their make up. Then of course all the guys in his unit wanted to talk about girls and somehow Bucky could never stay attuned. Things that he could care less about; and here was this skinny blonde with the reddest mouth he had ever seen chattering on and on about why he wanted to get a tattoo of a black and red coy. “They represent ambitiousness and ambivalence—I think that if I got them maybe that’d make me a bit more ambitious. That’s not too far out is it? Also! Red means mother and black means father. That’s all good reasons to get it right? People always say when you get a tattoo it needs to have meaning.”

“That’s a load of shit,” Bucky finally let out, interrupting him. Steve looked over at him with wide eyes. “It’s your body. Put what you want on it. If you want meaningful tattoos than get meaningful tattoos—if you want something because you think it’s beautiful and would look beautiful on you, than get something that’s beautiful.”

“Good to see that you do have a voice,” he said with a grin. “I thought I’d have to talk myself to death to finally get something substantial out of you.” 

Bucky half smiled, scratching the back of his head. “Sorry.”

“I’m glad you’ve finally warmed up to me, Buck.”


	3. III

It turned into a nightly ritual—Steve would show up at Bucky’s doorstep with various baked goods and sometimes they’d be laden with weed. He’d show up already in a fit of giggles over how he’s made pot pop pies and then dared him to say it three times fast. Every night he showed up and every night they’d sit on his porch while watching the way the ocean flowed in the dark and just talk. Sometimes they’d talk about nothing and sometimes they’d talk about everything.

Until one night he didn’t show up.

Bucky didn’t really realize he’d been waiting for Steve until he started pacing his living room. He always showed up around eleven and now it was eleven thirty and there was no sign of him. Part of him actually started to panic and so he tromped out of his house ready to march over to Steve’s tiny yellow house and knock the door down if he had to. Except that he didn’t.

As he was heading toward the little yellow house he caught sight of a figure standing on the shoreline of the beach. As he came closer he knew it was Steve by his small frame and the blanket wrapped around his shoulders blowing with the breeze—his hair was a mess around his ears and his feet were bare, buried deep in the sand.

Bucky wasn’t sure what he was looking at but he just seemed to be standing and staring out at the water—the water that always seemed so peaceful to him at night. He looked out at it, now behind Steve, and realized just how calm it really was. Standing now so close to him he realized just how tiny he really was, not just in his height but his weight as well. He ate like a two hundred pound man and yet remained as thin as a bird—but it wasn’t as though he looked healthy either, in fact he looked rather sickly.

“No brownies tonight?” he asked, causing Steve to jump and turn around, his eyes wide as he caught sight of him. His hand was clutched to his heart, his blanket fluttering to the ground.

“You scared the shit out of me, Bucky,” he hissed, laughing as he brushed back his hair. Bucky grinned widely, muttering a ‘sorry’ that he knew was far from truthful. Steve rolled his eyes and swatted blindly at Bucky before resuming his staring. “You know how I told you the ocean seems more peaceful at night? Well…I think it’s time to finally swim in it.”

Without warning he reached town and tugged the shirt he had on up and over his head, leaving him in just a pair of shorts. Bucky was so taken aback by the sudden gesture that he simply stared at him with wide eyes. Steve grinned cheekily at him before taking off, splashing clumsily into the shore and eventually tripping over the weight of the water and falling face first. Bucky simply watched the whole event only to come back into action when Steve surfaced screaming about how cold the water was.

“What did you think was going to happen, you punk?!” Bucky called. “There’s no sun to warm it up!”

“It looked so nice! It was all a lie!” he wailed, pretending to sink into the sea. Bucky rolled his eyes at the boy’s dramatic complaints until he finally started wading towards him. He didn’t realize what was happening of course, until Steve was fully out of the water. He was walking toward him shivering, still stumbling in the waves and then he was chasing him down.

He was at a disadvantage though being dragged down by his sweatpants and clothes because the near naked boy managed to pounce on him in a second. The next thing he knew he was chasing him into the water in nothing but his briefs and the two of them were crying like children about how freezing the water was.

After a time though the two seemed to wade peacefully next to each other in silence, staring up at the moon and ignoring the occasional icy nip of air. “I have a confession,” Steve murmured, causing Bucky to glance his way. “I’ve never swam in the ocean before today.”

“Too scared of sharks?” he joked, with a chuckle. Steve smiled in return but he simply shook his head.

“Never been close enough to the sea. This year is kind of my bucket list year. You know do all the things you want to do before life gets too boring to actually live—that kind of thing. I’ve got loads of things—live on a beach, swim in the ocean, learn to surf, make a new friend, and kiss in the rain… that kind of crap.”

Bucky was silent for a moment before he flipped onto his back and pushed himself closer to Steve. “I can teach you to surf if you’d like…I mean, if you’re not too scared of the sharks that is.” Steve glared at him; though he was pretty sure he couldn’t see it so instead he slapped Bucky. This resulted in the epic splash battle, which somehow ended up with the two of them holding hands while floating on their backs again in the ocean.

Neither really made mention of the fact that they were holding hands, Bucky was pretty sure that it was just a life support thing—so that they didn’t drift too far apart. “What do you want to learn to do, Bucky?” he murmured, looking over at him.

Bucky had to think long and hard for a moment. What did he want to learn to do? He could play guitar, he could surf, he could do loads of sports and he was decent at them. What was there that he couldn’t do that he wanted to learn?

“I’ll have to get back to you on that.”


	4. IV

It was a Saturday evening and Bucky was leaning against the railing on his porch, watching the ocean like Steve usually did. He had begun to see what he meant by it seeming more peaceful in the night-light instead of the day—there was no one there to disturb it. It was just one fluid entity brushing up on their shores, welcoming them and telling them that if they really wanted to, it would allow them access. He smiled to himself, brushing his mane of hair off of his forehead and turned, pressing his elbows against the railing. Steve really ‘had’ got to him. 

It had been a month of their nightly munchies and meaningless conversations and now those nightly munchies sometimes included night swims. Somehow they would always end up with their fingers interlocked but neither really said anything about it. It just happened—it didn’t necessarily mean anything and if it did, who cared? 

“Oiy! Beefcake!” Bucky frowned, turning around to see Steve standing in the sand, barefoot, his hands deep in the pockets of his shorts, in front of his porch. “You gonna stand there all night or are you gonna come and make some s’mores with me?” He pointed a little ways down the beach and he followed Steve’s hand, seeing the flickering light of fire.

“Are you sure it’s safe for you to be starting a fire?” he joked, even in the dark catching Steve’s sour expression. He merely ignored him and tromped to isr fire, sitting in the sand and facing the ocean. Bucky sighed, jumping over the banister blocking him from Steve and followed suit, sitting beside him.

The two sat with the fire on their left side, looking out at the ocean as they always did. Bucky had a gray zip up on tonight because it happened to be extra chilly that night—and Steve as always, was in nothing but a sleeveless t-shirt but the cold didn’t seem to bother him.

Steve looked over at Bucky and smiled before reaching into a cooler he hadn’t noticed before—he brandished two lemonades and handed one to him. “I know you like my pot goodies, but we’ve never actually breached the subject of alcohol,” he said. He looked down at the lemonade seeing the label indicating that they were indeed alcoholic.

“It’s a bit…girlie, isn’t it?” he asked, taking a swig from the drink and realizing it was pink lemonade. 

“You know Bucky, I [i]am[/i] a girl.” Bucky rolled his eyes, shoving at Steve’s shoulders as he giggled to himself and brought out a wrap of graham crackers, two chocolate bars and a bag of marshmallows. He also grabbed two marshmallow burners and stuck two on each prong before holding it over the fire. “S’mores have always been my favorite summer treat. I used to go camping with some friends every year and we’d always make s’mores and cinnabears,” Steve said with a smile as he watched the marshmallows catch fire. He pulled them back, blew them out and began setting to work on making them each a s’more. “One time we packed up all our gear and went canoeing down the river—the canoeing part was fun but I was with jerks who liked to tip their canoes and so naturally, I was in the water more than I was in the actual canoe. We finally got to a place where we wanted to camp but when we got there and started to set up we realized that our sleeping bags had gotten ‘soaked’. It was probably the worst nights sleep I’ve ever had—we made the ultimate cuddle fortress, trying to use each others body heat to keep warm.”

Steve was smiling as he spoke, chewing on his s’more in the process but Bucky realized he hadn’t even touched his own s’more, just held it in his hand while watching Steve talk. His eyes never left the water, until he glanced at him and he seemed to panic before taking a large bite of his s’more. He coughed as the marshmallow spread in his mouth and the graham cracker crumbs tickled the back of his throat, but he gave Steve the thumbs up anyway.

“Glad you enjoy them, beefcake.” Steve laughed finally opening his lemonade and taking a swig from it. “Did you figure it out?” he asked, catching him off guard.

“Figure what out?”

“What you want to learn how to do.”

“Oh,” Bucky said, scratching the back of his head. “I haven’t actually thought about it,” he admitted, looking heepishly at Steve who simply had his eyebrows raised. He shook his head and smiled. 

“You weren’t a very good student were you?” He chuckled and Bucky grinned while shaking his head. “You’ll figure it out, Bucko. Before the summer ends we’ll find something for you to learn how to do.”


	5. V

On a Sunday morning Bucky was woken by the sound of an insistent knocking on his door. He sat up groggily, roused from a rather peaceful dream, and grumpily made his way to the front hall where he wrenched open the door with much more force than necessary. Steve stood in his doorway wearing long pants for the first time that he’d seen and a very wide smile. He gave Steve a look of pure disdain before making to slam the door in his face but his frail arm shot out like a bullet. Bucky continued to glare at him while Steve just continued smiling.

“It’s Sunday morning and we’re going hiking!” Steve’s voice sounded unusually loud in the daylight and Bucky groaned, pressing his forehead against his arm propped against the doorframe.

“Please, god, no.” Bucky sighed. Eventually, of course, Steve managed to budge his way into his room where he began throwing clothes at him. Without really thinking he tugged them on and followed him groggily into his kitchen as he filled him a water bottle and grabbed a pair of sunglasses on his counter before shoving them on his face. 

“Perfect,” Steve said, looking pleased. Bucky glanced down at himself seeing that Steve had dressed him in clothes that were indeed meant for hiking—jeans and a red plaid button up that he had removed the sleeves from a long time ago. He sighed, running a hand through his matted hair before giving Steve a look he knew he would interpret even with the sunglasses. 

“Why are you doing this to me?” he questioned, as he shoved him into the bathroom urging him to brush his teeth before they went. He filled one of his toothbrushes with paste before sticking it in his mouth and half-heartedly began to run it against his teeth.

“Because you shouldn’t sleep summer away. You should get up early and feel the sun on your skin and get a tan. Also because I have a surprise for you!” Steve seemed so pleased with himself and even though Bucky was considering fighting past him back to bed he bit back his retorts and finished rinsing his mouth out. “I promise it’s not a very long walk.”

“To you, maybe,” Bucky grumbled, following Steve out the door. On a sudden last minute thought he grabbed the ukulele that sat untouched on his love seat. His mom had bought it for him that past Christmas and he hardly ever used it though he had wanted one for ages. So the two passed the time with nothing but the sound of the ukulele and Steve’s low humming. 

It really wasn’t that far of a walk but the sun and the movement made Bucky feel as though they were moving for hours—he had stopped playing the ukulele when they arrived and was now carrying it as though it were a burden on him. Steve simply rolled his eyes at Bucky before spreading his arms wide and brandishing the area to him. 

Bucky had hardly been paying attention to where they were going but this was clearly a place Steve frequented often. Just off the coast of the beach was a sort of wilderness preserve. It was fenced off so that there would be no hunters within its arms and the people who stayed on the beach mostly had families who were more interested in the water than the trees. Steve had led Bucky right to the edge of a cliff, one that really wasn’t very high and seemed to have it’s own private little bay. He glanced down over the cliff seeing crystal clear water and if he squinted just enough he could see fish swimming in the sun’s glare. “Wow,” he said, pursing his lips and nodding in Steve’s direction. “I’ll admit it, I’m impressed.”

“Good,” he said, feeling rather proud of himself. “But that’s not what I wanted to show you.” Bucky turned around as he spoke to see that Steve was sitting with his legs crossed on a blue and green quilt. A picnic basket lay next to him and he was rubbing the open spot. 

“A picnic?” Bucky chortled and sat beside him, pulling his legs close to him and setting the ukulele down. Steve smiled, reaching into the basket and handing him a sandwich. “Do you realize all we ever really do is eat?” he said as he took a rather large bite of the sandwich.

Steve paused, looking thoughtful before shrugging. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” Bucky said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. The two ate in silence, which was almost an uncomfortable change of pace for Bucky. He had grown so used to the sound of Steve’s voice just incessantly rambling that the silence made him uneasy. “Cat got your tongue?” he finally said and Steve looked at him with his brow rose. “You haven’t talked nearly as much as you usually do.”

“I’m not the only person with a voice here, Bucko. You can talk to.” 

“I’m not so good at talking,” Bucky admitted, scratching the back of his head and crinkling his nose sheepishly. Steve smiled before reaching over and shaking at his knee playfully. 

“I think you’re just nervous, Buck. I normally do all the talking for the both of us and you’re a little too comfortable with that.” Steve smiled cheerily at him and Bucky realized that he was right. He shrugged then, nodding at the ukulele left unattended by his feet. “How about you sing?”

“You want me to sing?” Bucky said, staring at the tiny boy next to him. 

“Yeah, why not?” 

“What if I’m not very good,” Bucky asked, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Steve merely rolled his eyes at him before crawling down to the ukulele and bringing it to Bucky.

“Something tells me that you’re the kind of person who knows their talents. But even if you’re the world’s worst singer I’ll still think you sound lovely,” Steve said and Bucky suddenly wanted to kiss him. Even with the breadcrumbs on his lower lip and his sweat-curled hair, he suddenly wanted to kiss him. 

Instead though he picked up the ukulele and started to play.


	6. VI

Bucky began waking early, excited to venture with Steve to his secluded little hideaway. The two would sit together till it turned dark with their baked goods, sometimes filled with pot and they would swim. All of their old rituals transferring over into this new one and they would talk about everything and nothing as always—but Bucky began to notice that certain topics Steve strictly avoided.

There was a day when he was telling him a story—which was shocking in itself to both of them—about how his mom used to take him to the carnival every year and ride with him on the Ferris wheel while they ate funnel cakes and pointed out red cars speeding down the road. Steve smiled as usual, watching him talk and as it turned out he was a very hands-on talker as well; Steve found himself constantly dodging his sweeping arms.

Bucky turned to Steve still laughing slightly at the story he had just told and grinned, “Did your mom ever take you anywhere fun?” Steve glanced away from him then his smile wavering and instead of answering he simply stood up and walked to the edge of the cliff. Normally the two would stumble down the cliff side to get to the pool, Bucky wasn’t a fan when it came to heights and had no desire to cliff dive but Steve simply looked over his shoulder at him with a devious smile.

“Steve?” he questioned, slowly getting to his feet and then he froze. Steve had tossed his shirt off behind him but for once he didn’t stop there. He dropped his shorts and let it fall to his feet and Bucky stood dumbstruck.

“I’ve just realized I haven’t gone skinny dipping yet. I think it’s about time, don’t you?” Steve said, glancing over his shoulder once again before grabbing the waistband of his briefs and pulled them down and dropped them with his shorts. Bucky remained completely silent simply staring at the naked boy before him. He was much thinner than he had been at the beginning of summer—even with all the eating the two did, but even though his skinniness made him look sort of sickly Bucky still found him to be…beautiful.

His skin was pink and freckled from constantly being outside with some rather awkward tan lines and there was a little mole just above his left butt cheek. “Quit staring and join me, why don’t you?” Steve finally scoffed turning to face the cliff. He wrapped his toes around the edge and peered over before shrugging and dropping off the end.

A scream ripped from his throat and Bucky found himself running over after him, not even bothering to take his clothes off. He just dropped in, crying out as he did and then landing in the water. He floated there for a moment, opening his eyes and seeing blue. Little bubbles floated in front of his eyes, his hair spreading out like seaweed around him and then he saw Steve. His eyes were closed but a pleasant little smile was on his face as he allowed his arms to float over his head, his fingers tangling in his hair that drifted above his head like a fan.

Bucky surfaced, his breath coming in with a gasp as he did so and a moment later Steve followed. He kept his eyes closed; drifting backward so that the sun stained his skin and his hair remained splayed around his head. “This is even better than I thought,” he murmured.

“You’re very naked,” Bucky finally said, finding his voice at last. Steve grinned, opening one eye and catching sight of how weighed down he looked with his soaked clothes.

“I see that you’re not,” he noted, shutting his eye and Bucky glanced down at himself. He muttered something incoherent before stripping off his shirt and tossing it somewhere away from him before doing the same with his jeans. He kept his boxers on however, and mimicked Steve’s floating motion.

“Does being naked bother you?” Steve asked, seeing that Bucky hadn’t removed his boxers and joined him in his ‘free’ state.

“I can see it doesn’t bother you,” Bucky said, straightening himself and looking at Steve full on as he continued to float.

“Actually, I’m incredibly nervous right now. I’ve never been naked in front of another man,” Steve said it so nonchalantly that at first Bucky thought he was joking—but then he saw that there was no coy smile on his face or quirked eyebrow. He just looked at him, gauging his reaction as he gathered the correct words.

“Well, I mean your nipples are really lopsided,” Bucky said with just the hint of a cheeky grin. Steve gasped, straightening up and hitting Bucky before covering his chest. “Seriously! Look one’s higher than the other!”

“You little punk,” Steve cried, hitting him again. Bucky caught his wrist then as it landed on the side of his face in a light slap. His breath caught as his thumb pressed against the inside of his wrist and he looked him in the eye. “Well, you’re not staring. So either they really are ugly or you’re not gay like I thought, or you’re a gentleman.”

“I can prove two of those theories wrong right now,” he suggested, shrugging. Steve grinned, his thumb drifting slightly to the corner of his mouth.

“How?” Steve murmured and Bucky smiled. It was easy then to kick his feet and drift a little closer to him, he was taller than him so when he slid his hand down Steve’s arm to the back of his head it was simple to sink down in the water a bit and press his lips to Steve’s.

It was a short kiss, one that Steve pulled away from quickly, and his eyes wide as he pressed his fingers over Bucky’s lips. He frowned watching as he touched his own mouth and then his brow furrowed. He let out a small breath before moving his hand from his lips down to his shoulder, his free hand grasped Bucky’s other shoulder and then he lunged forward. His chest pressed against Bucky’s chest, his hands moving from his shoulders to clasp either side of his face and he kissed him.

If he weren’t still dripping from his hair, Bucky might wonder why he was crying.


	7. VII

Bucky didn’t see Steve for three days. He woke up early those three days, waiting for Steve to come wake him so they could go on their daily hike and eat their brownies and swim. But he never came. He would surf in the afternoons and peer over at his yellow house and wait to see him come outside with his blanket and books and sit and read and occasionally peek over to watch Bucky surf. At night he would sit on his porch and play with his ukulele and wait for Steve to come over with his specially baked pot cookies to apologize for being so absent but he never showed.

At first he thought he had scared him away by kissing him but that was stupid—Steve had kissed him back. He wasn’t the kind of guy to keep his mouth shut about things like that, if he didn’t like what he was doing he would’ve slapped him upside the head and told him to go to hell. But he didn’t. Instead he had kissed him back and the two had walked back home with their fingers linked. He had kissed Bucky goodnight and told him he would see him later—but three days was too late.

On the fourth day Bucky finally bucked up the courage to stomp over to Steve’s house and pound on his door. After several minutes of his incessant knocking the door finally opened and Steve stood before him with a thick blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He wore a gray sweater that hung off his body and a pair of shorts that barely fit him as well. His hair was a blonde mess and there were tear tracks down his cheeks.

All the angry words left his tongue as he stared at the boy that looked nothing like his Steve and more like a broken doll. “Hey there Bucko,” he croaked and he could tell from the waft of putrid air that he had been vomiting. He stepped back to let him in and left the door open before making his way to the kitchen. Bucky walked into the foyer seeing a living room crowded with books and a couch smothered with blankets. So many of the books had little red ribbons sticking out of them and Bucky realized just how many books Steve was trying to read at once.

He looked over to see Steve in the kitchen, his arms shaking as he tried to pour two cups of tea. Without even thinking about it he found himself moving over to him to take the pot from him and Steve smiled gratefully at Bucky before grabbing honey and flavor packets. After fixing their tea the two made their way over to the couch and Bucky saw on the end table dozens of empty teacups and a tray of half eaten brownies. There was also an empty bucket beside the couch as well.

Steve sat in the midst of the blankets wrapping them cozily around him while laying a wide-open book in his lap. He placed his tea between his hands and lifted it to his nose to inhale the honey scent. Bucky simply watched him, his mouth slightly open as he slowly came to the realization that something was very wrong.

“Sorry I’ve been MIA lately, Buck,” Steve said, his eyes in his lap. “I’ve…I needed to catch up.”

“On your books?” Bucky said and Steve finally met his eyes. He smiled and let out a little laugh and a tear fell down his cheek. He wiped it away before nodding.

“Remember what I told you the first day we met? About why I got stressed about reading?”

“About needing to read as many books as you can…because you…because you might be dead tomorrow?” Bucky stuttered on the last part of the sentence, his throat growing thick as he realized what Steve was about to say.

“I was being serious,” he whispered. “Everything I say is serious actually. I don’t really feel the need to joke…might as well be as honest as you can.” Steve let out a shaky breath and caught Bucky’s gaze. “It’s a very strong possibility that I might die tomorrow. But the doctor says I have maybe a month left.”

Bucky looked away as he felt his throat begin to burn, his lower lip quivering slightly. “Cancer?” he asked and Steve nodded taking another sip of his tea. “Why aren’t you with family? Sh-shouldn’t you be with your family now?”

Steve smiled slightly to himself before shaking her head. “I’ve said my goodbyes. I don’t want them to see me like this…they don’t know I’m here. I sort of disappeared after he told me I only had three months left. My parents tried to stay strong and keep their chins up but when they left the room I heard them…just so miserable. Saying how they couldn’t sit there and watch their baby die…I didn’t want them to have to watch me die either so I…I left. We all knew I was going to die eventually I wasn’t strong enough to fight it—so I left.” Steve took a deep breath, his voice shaking as he talked and though Bucky’s eyes were red and he himself was having trouble keeping it together he reached over and took Steve’s hand in his. Steve smiled gratefully at him before giving it a little squeeze.

“I’d bought this house…a while ago. I was engaged once to a woman named Peggy. I loved her more than anything, she was that big kind of love you hear about in movies…we were going to live on the beach and go night swimming and read all the time and hike up that cliff.” Steve let out a little sob then, wiping furiously at his eyes. Bucky could see how hard it was for him to keep it together, could see that he wanted more than anything to completely let go and just cry. “She wanted to stay with me. Wanted to help me pull through and she’d hold my hands and told me that it never mattered to her that I was sick, that I wasn’t like other guys—that I was fragile and…small. But I couldn’t do that to her. I couldn’t make her wait for me to go. I couldn’t stand the look in her eyes…just like the look you’re giving me now. I just wanted to be alone after that. Then I met you… and I realized I didn’t want to be alone I wanted someone to be with me and I didn’t want you to know that I was dying because I knew you wouldn’t want to be with me either.”

“That’s not true, Steve.”

“It is true Bucky. No one wants to love a guywho might not make it to tomorrow. You can’t give your heart to me because I might not be able to hold on to it through the night. But I’m glad you could be my friend for a little bit. You’re a really great friend, Buck. You’re an amazing…person. I love you a lot okay? I’m just really scared now. I don’t want to go yet.” Steve let out a little laugh, though it was laced with tears. “Look at all these books I haven’t finished yet!”

“I’ll help you. We can read them together and then I’ll tell you what happened in my book and you can tell me what happened in yours. I know it’s not the best…alternative. But then you’ll know what happened.”

Steve looked at Bucky and leaned forward before kissing his cheek. “Thanks, Buck. That’d be great.”

Steve picked the book up in his lap and began to read it and Bucky grabbed one next to him that had no red ribbon in it and opened it to the first page. He noticed that there was a little wet drop in the center of the page now, smearing the words so that they were almost unintelligible. At first he thought maybe it was from Steve but when he lifted his hand to his cheek he felt that they were damp.

When Steve’s arms wrapped around his torso he realized that he was crying.


	8. VIII

Bucky woke up the next day with his head in Steve’s lap. His eyes were bloodshot and flicking furiously line after line in the current book he was reading. He couldn’t even remember how long they’d been up reading and repeating endings and plotlines to each other. Steve’s rapid eye movement froze and he glanced over to see Bucky watching him before he smiled slightly. “Morning, Buck.”

 

It was almost like the news from the night before had just been news. Nothing life altering; Steve and Bucky were still here and they would continue walking to their little bay and eating picnics and swimming together. He glanced at the book in his hands and saw the tear stains there and realized that it was very much not _just_ news.

 

Bucky sat up and looked at Steve who had finally set his book down before smiling tiredly at Bucky. How many more times would he call him Bucko? How many more times would he ramble mindlessly about shark attacks…or anything?

 

With a deep breath he stood up and then looked at the frail boy beside him. He held his hand out to him and without question Steve took it. They would go out as normal as possible—they would go on their walks and if Steve couldn’t do it Bucky would help him. It was as simple as that. There was no stopping until there was absolutely nothing left.

 

It was another three weeks before Steve couldn’t walk up the cliffs himself and Bucky would carry him. He’d put the food from their picnic baskets into an overly large backpack and put it on his back and then he’d carry Steve up. When they would go swim he would carry him in the water as well. “I hope this is what heaven is like,” he murmured to him one day his face in the crook of Bucky’s neck.

 

“Where someone carries you around like an old lady?” Bucky joked and Steve hit him as hard as a bird could.

 

“Where someone treats me like they love me.”

 

Bucky didn’t say anything after that, instead he pressed his lips to Steve’s forehead and watched as he closed his eyes in Bucky’s arms. Another week and a half passed and Steve could hardly get out of bed. Bucky had boarded himself in his place after that, reading to him at night when his eyes were too tired to move anymore. When he was out in the kitchen or simply taking a shower he could hear Steve crying sometimes. He knew it was not because he was sad but because he was scared and he wanted more than anything to diminish that fear as much as possible.

 

Bucky cried too, more than he thought he ever would—over this boy who had snuck into his life and made himself the most prominent thing there. The only boy who had ever fully captured his attention—the only boy who could make him _want_ to spend every single day with him and help him in the shower and just…be there. Bucky cried because he knew he was losing probably the most important friend he’d ever had.

 

The last night Bucky was reading to Steve and he could hear his breath rattling around in his lungs. His reading was much slower than usual since he was so concentrated on listening to him breathe, just to make sure he was still there and still going.

 

He nearly jumped out of his seat when Steve’s little hand clasped over his wrist. He looked up to see his tired blue eyes gazing at him and he was very much reminded of his Grandmother in a moment. The way he just seemed to see him and nothing else—and Steve had that same look now. He smiled and looked out the window seeing the gleam of the moon. “Will you take me swimming?”

 

Bucky could only nod before setting the book down at the foot of the bed and gently scooped Steve up from the bed. The two walked through the living room full of the books, and down the pathway of Steve’s little yellow house—they made their way past the bonfire camp Steve had built up for them and down the sandy beach they had first had that very strange conversation about sharks and books. Bucky walked into the water, his shorts soaking into the ocean and making him feel much heavier.

 

He made his way up to his shoulders so that Steve was nearly completely submerged, just his arms and head above the water and he kept his face pressed against his neck, his breath hot and shallow. “I still never learned how to surf,” he chuckled, cringing ever so slightly but Bucky didn’t miss it.

 

“I’ll teach you,” Bucky whispered. “Tomorrow morning, we’ll wake up early and I’ll teach you. That’s a promise…. I promise,” he said closing his eyes as the bridge of his nose burned and the back of his eyes stung.

 

“I’ll hold you to it. Make sure there aren’t any sharks…”

 

“I promise. No sharks.”

 

“Buck?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Tell me your name.  Your real name.”

 

“It’s James….James Buchanan Barnes.”

 

Steve mumbled something and then he felt it. Nothing. Just the cold of the ocean and the bitter salty air in his eyes.


	9. IX

Home didn’t welcome him with the warm arms he had been hoping for. Sure, when he walked through the front door his mother embraced him, so happy to see her baby boy—his father clapped him on the back and even his friends were all gathered in his living room waiting to welcome him home. In that moment he wanted nothing more for them all to just disappear and to leave him alone. He couldn’t stay on that beach anymore after they took Steve away—he had to come home but even there he wanted to be left alone.

He gave his family and friends the briefest of smiles before trudging up to his room and collapsing on his bed closing his eyes and forcing back all the hot tears clinging to the back of his throat. The door creaked open and he peered over to see a blonde head peeking through. “Bucky? You okay, bud?” Clint stood awkwardly in the doorway, shifting on both feet as he glanced behind him where no doubt, the rest of his friends were standing just as uncomfortably.

When Bucky closed his eyes once more and turned to look away from him he heard the door widen and knew his friends were piling themselves into his room—the weight on the bed shifted and suddenly there were hands prodding him until he finally acknowledged they were there.

“You gonna tell us what the hell happened or are we going to have to guess?” Bucky stared at his friends, knowing that they saw the redness in his eyes and the misery in his expression and all of the humor was wiped away from theirs. Then he told them.

He told them about the little guy who had just burst into his life with his pot brownies and hiking adventures. His big blue eyes and his smile that was much too large for the rest of his body. He told them how he died and how he might have loved him one day and something in his body told him that he had lost something so special and important and there would forever be a void in his chest of where Steve was meant to be. 

“I…I don’t even know his last name,” Bucky gasped, his hands raking down the sides of his face as he finally let the full weight of his death collapse on him and suddenly there were arms around him as he sobbed. “I don’t even know his last name,” he whispered.

It was a week later that he got the letter. There was a small woman in the doorway clutching the letter in her hands, a watery expression on her face as she looked at Bucky. He knew right then and there that it was Steve’s fiancée and without even thinking he grabbed her and hugged her. A man that could probably crush him by simply stepping on him stood a little ways back, his expression just destroyed with grief and Bucky wanted to hug him too. 

“We…we found this in Steve’s cabin,” his fiancée, Peggy choked. “It just had your name on it and…that you were the boy in the blue house. We did everything we could to find you and get this to you,” she whispered and Bucky’s heart dropped as he took the letter with shaking hands and ripped it open. Steve’s fiancée watched with her hands clutched to her chest as Bucky read aloud with a quivering voice.

Hey Buck,

I’m probably gone now but that’s okay because I’ve got all the time in the world to read those stupid books. I just wanted to let you know that I’m very, very happy to have spent those last months with you because we had a good time didn’t we, Buck? Even with those pot brownies (don’t tell my mom!). I know you’re sad and I know you’re used to me talking too much but…there’s nothing else for me to say. I just…you’re going to be fine and I love you. We’ll see each other again.

The letter drifted off and he knew that Steve hadn’t finished. He knew that he would’ve blabbed on for another million pages but his handwriting was wobbly and it must’ve been when things got bad. Bucky looked at Peggy and reached out to take her hand before thanking her. Peggy reached into her purse then and pulled out a slim, crinkled piece of paper, which she handed to Bucky. He glanced down to see that it was a photo of a much healthier looking Steve. 

Nothing else was said between the two aside from a grateful smile and then Peggy left, taking the large man’s hand. Bucky looked down at the photo of Steve smiling at him, wrinkling his forehead and glancing at the letter again as well.

You’re going to be fine, and I love you.

“Wait!” he called out and Peggy turned around. “Wh-what was Steve’s last name?”

She smiled. “Rogers. His name was Steve Rogers.”


End file.
